


I Shall Say Good Night Till it be Morrow

by Cumberbatch Critter (ivelostmyspectacles)



Category: Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell & Related Fandoms, Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell (TV)
Genre: Caretaking, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Sharing a Bed, Shippy Gen, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-30
Updated: 2017-01-30
Packaged: 2018-09-20 21:09:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9516392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivelostmyspectacles/pseuds/Cumberbatch%20Critter
Summary: Segundus is sensitive to magic.Childermass is even more so.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rubyofkukundu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rubyofkukundu/gifts).



> Inspired by [Veda's ](http://ohveda.tumblr.com)tags: Imagine a nice bit of hc with these two +Imagine it +Thought: Segundus feels magic but Childermass feels it even more strongly +there must be a storyline there somewhere +Segundus struggling against his wooziness while Childermass is flat-out unconscious +And Charles keeps putting Segundus to bed+ And Segundus keeps clambering out of it like +I must tend to Childermass I must on [this ](http://brovitranduila.tumblr.com/post/124952837142)lovely drawing.
> 
> I didn't hit all those points, but it kicked me to write for this fandom I got into literally two weeks ago and I hope you like it??
> 
> I do not own _JSAMN_. Thanks for reading!

It started with something cold and crawling, creeping up the back of his spine. It wasn’t unlike catching cold, tingling that travelled up the spine without physically shaking the body, a dizziness overtaking the head.

He placed a hand against his temple, eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks.

“Mr Segundus?”

“I’m… there’s…” 

There was a horrible sounding  _ thud _ , and Segundus’s eyes flew open to look for the source. The buzzing beneath his skin was distraction, but there was a heap of dark clothes and dark hair on the floor, and that was suddenly more important.

“Mr Childermass!” he exclaimed, taking a step forward. His knees buckled. “Blast…”

“Mr Segundus,” Honeyfoot repeated, catching him about the arm. “Mr Segundus, whatever is the matter??”

“There’s… magic…” He clenched his hands into fists and shoved away from Honeyfoot, stumbling the few steps to their fallen visitor.

“What??”

“There’s magic here.” He crashed to his knees next to Childermass, feeling against sweaty skin for a pulse. “Strong magic… all around… Mr Childermass. Mr Childermass.” He was alive, he was breathing, and his pulse was out of control.

Segundus felt sick. His own pulse was pounding in his ears, and even as he reached to tug at the knot on Childermass’s cravat, he swooned again, nearly collapsing on top of their unconscious visitor.

“Mr Segundus, sit back,” Honeyfoot urged. “Let me fetch some water.”

“Fetch the smelling salts…” He finally caught the knot, tugging on it weakly. He felt as useless as a newborn kitten.  _ Damn _ .

“Mr Segundus–”

“ _ Now _ , Mr Honeyfoot, with haste!” He finally went, leaving Segundus to sigh shakily, work to further loosen the knot in Childermass’s cravat, and start pulling at his coat.

Where this magic had come from, Segundus hadn’t an idea. But it was strong enough to make his vision waver, to have black spots burst in front of his eyes. It was strong enough to cause Mr Childermass to faint. They ought to find where it was coming from… find out if one of their friends were in the vicinity, but his status as self-appointed doctor prioritised Childermass over it.

In all likelihood, it would have no matter, anyway. Here was a person in need. Humankind, flawed as it was, always came first over magic, even he could admit that.

“Mr Childermass. Mr Childermass. John.” He shook his shoulder clumsily, pressed a hand flat against a stubbled cheek.. He knew his name as John purely because it was the same as his own. It was very queer to speak aloud, and settled back on the longer, if not more tedious, way of trying to rouse him. “Mr Childer–”

But there were so many syllables, and the swooping sensation was back. He caught himself with both hands on the floor, unable to see.

“Mr Segundus, sir–”

There was a moment where his blurred vision cleared; Charles and Mr Honeyfoot both were standing over him and Childermass. And then the floating could be resisted no more; he dropped into dreamless darkness, and stayed there.

  
  


The sick sensation had gone when he woke, and he was draped over a chair that he hadn’t been in prior.

“Charles–”

“Sir! Forgive me, sir, I did not hear you awaken.” The man moved forward into view, and Segundus squinted at him. “Have some water, sir.”

He accepted, sipping at it and then drinking like a man dying of thirst. The sick feeling churning his stomach  _ had _ gone; he no longer felt the urge to retch, but his head was still swimming unpleasantly. “What happened?” His eyes flicked around the room, on the fire and window and his own trembling hands.

“You collapsed, sir. You and Mr Childermass.”

He straightened up. “Childermass! Where is he?”

“Mr Honeyfoot and I moved him to a bed, sir. He was mumbling all sorts while he slept.”

Segundus pried his fingers away from the glass and set it aside, then attempted to push himself to his feet. It went as well as he expected; Charles stepped forward to hold him up, and he shivered despite the warmth from the fire. “What is this magic…”

“You should rest, Mr Segundus.” Charles urged. “Shall I turn down the bed?”

“No. I’ll tend to Mr Childermass and then see what is causing… this. Ah, Mr Honeyfoot.”

“Mr Segundus, you still look quite ill,” he said, frowning into his face.

His eyebrows pinched and he wanted to swat them away, both of them. But Charles had one arm, and Honeyfoot the other. “Mr Childermass?”

“Asleep. The salts worked only momentarily, and he was unconscious again.”

“Take me to him. Charles, fetch me a wet cloth.”

“Mr Segundus–”

“At once.” He took a deep breath and nodded. “Come along, Mr Honeyfoot. We have a patient.”

“ _ You _ are our patient,” Honeyfoot said gently, although kept Segundus’s arm to lead him towards the rooms. “You must rest.”

“I must tend to Mr Childermass. And find out what the source of this magic is.” He tried to focus on his feet beneath him. “Can you not feel it, Mr Honeyfoot? It’s all around us… something is happening.”

“I don’t believe I feel it as though you and Mr Childermass do, no.”

It was both horrible and exhilarating at the same time. If he didn’t feel so ill, he would be out the door without a moment’s delay. His skin was still buzzing, and so was his brain, but he managed to keep one foot in front of the other until he was stumbling away from Honeyfoot and to Childermass’s bedside.

“Mr Childermass.” He braced a hand on the bed to place his opposite one on the man’s forehead. Sweating beneath his touch, an odd pallor to his skin. His pulse seemed to have slowed from where it had been racing to. Was that a good sign? Even Segundus didn’t know how this magic-sickness worked.

He turned for the pitcher of water on the nightstand and wobbled as he took full height again. 

“Mr Segundus–” 

He didn’t notice if it was Honeyfoot or Charles, and he frankly did not care. He caught the leg of the chair around his ankle and pulled it forward, allowing himself to sink down into it. “There, I am resting,” he said plaintively, and looked up at his returned servant. “That compress?”

“Here, sir.”

“Thank you.” Segundus leaned forward again, setting the bowl of water next to the pitcher to smoothe the wet compress against Childermass’s forehead. “There you go… there we are. Mr Childermass?”

He was mumbling; for a moment, Segundus thought that he was coming around but it wasn’t so. He was talking in his sleep.

“… do not understand… what are… telling me… please…”

Segundus looked at Honeyfoot, and continued to stroke his fingers over the compress on his forehead. He had no inkling of what the man was trying to say, or if he was even speaking to them. There were other things, other things in the in-between, hanging in the balance between non-magic and magic. They were never clear to him, though.

“Mr Childermass, can you hear me?”

“I don’t believe he can,” Honeyfoot said, and Segundus sighed.

“Apparently not.” There was only so much tending one could do, and even less for what had seemed to be brought on by magic. “I will stay with him.”

“Do you think–”

“I  _ think _ ,” he interrupted, as gently as he could, “that I will stay here, Mr Honeyfoot. Do not fret. We wi’ll both be fine, I assure you.” He looked back at Childermass, and hoped that was true. Feeling faint only ever lasted a short while with him; hopefully it would not last too much longer with Childermass, either.

  
  


The impression of movement woke him up. For another short moment, Segundus had no idea where he was, nor what time it had become. His head was on his arms and his arms were on something soft; he raised his face from the fabric and found himself slumped over to rest half on the bed, and Childermass was squinting down at him in confusion.

“… Oh!” Segundus jolted upright. He realised a moment later that the world did not spin. He felt tired and achy, as if coming off of a flu, but the horrible sensation from earlier had gone. The magic was gone.

He didn’t know if he should be disappointed or relieved.

“Mr Childermass,” he greeted. His voice was rasping. He cleared his throat, feeling a flush climbing up his neck. How improper, falling asleep on the job. And on the bed of a patient, no less! 

There was also a blanket draped around his shoulders, which meant either Honeyfoot or Charles had been in  _ and hadn’t woken him _ .

“What is this?” Childermass demanded, although no less worse for the wear sounding than Segundus.

“You fainted, sir. As did I.” He reached for the pitcher of water and poured a glass, offering it to Childermass. 

It seemed to dredge a memory. Childermass took the water after a moment’s hesitation, and sipped at it. He looked in thought, Segundus perceived, and was proven right a moment later when the man spoke. “There was magic.”

“Strong magic.” Segundus braced his hands on his knees. “I didn’t get the chance to investigate. Are our friends in town?”

“I haven’t heard.”

“No, nor have I.”

Segundus sat, still a little flummoxed and still a little weary. Childermass said nothing else, and the silence stretched until it was near stifling.

He was just about to say something, if only to ponder the effects that magic had on the two of them, when Childermass began to move the blankets aside.

He reacted before he thought; his hand grasped at Childermass’s wrist to stop him. “Sir, I beg of you–” The glare, if it was meant to be one, directed at him made him pull his hand back. “ – you must rest.”

Now the glare turned into a single raised eyebrow, as Childermass swept his gaze along him in a way that was far too assessing. “As you were?” he inquired.

Segundus huffed, if not a little indignantly. “I fell asleep tending you.”

“You were tending me.”

“ _ Yes _ ,” he said, a touch defiantly. “I was attempting to.”

“After failing to tend to himself,” a voice remarked, and Segundus looked over his shoulder to Honeyfoot. Charles was standing behind him, eyes still beseeching Segundus. Probably wanting him to rest. He had a  _ patient _ !

“I was resting.”

“I can attest to it, sir,” Childermass said, and Segundus might have imagined the twitch of his lips. “I must–”

“Stay,” Segundus interrupted. “You may leave in the morning. Night has already fallen, and you are hardly in a state.”

“I must agree with Mr Segundus,” Honeyfoot added. “We cannot, in good conscience, allow you to leave after such a violent reaction. What if you were to encounter it along the way?”

Oh crumbs, he hadn’t even thought of that. Now he would fight tooth and nail for him to stay, short of tying him to the bed. 

… No, he actually wouldn’t entertain such a thing, but it did remain to be a practise for unruly patients likely to cause harm to themselves. Something Childermass seemed wont to do by leaving.

“We have no way of knowing,” Honeyfoot continued.

“You could be out there, lying stranded for hours,” Segundus went on. “I must say, I’m sorry, but I have to refuse.”

Childermass continued to look unruffled, as much as a man in his position could, dark eyes flitting between the two patrons of Starecross Hall. And then, “As you wish,” he said, taking on an air of indifference beneath the surly face. “I will remain until sunrise.” He reached to set the cup back on the bedside table.

Segundus reached to take it from him. “Well received, Mr Childermass.”

“You’re in good hands,” Honeyfoot said. “Charles, let us go fetch more blankets. And our fires need tending, after the delay that this caused.”

“Right away, sir.”

Segundus watched them go, and finally pushed himself back to his feet. “Well, I’ll let you rest. Charles is here, if you need anything. I’ll, I mean, our rooms are upstairs, Honeyfoot and I. If you require us.”

Childermass had already sank back onto the pillows, eyes closed on a still sallow face. But now he opened then, looking up at Segundus with a mixture of what appeared to be discontent and… something Segundus could not decipher. He would think it gratitude, except not, because it was Mr Childermass.

“Thank you, John Segundus.”

Segundus almost did a double take. He stopped himself at the last moment. “You’re… well, of course, you are welcome. You’re our visitor. You’re in our hands. We must take care of you.”

That  _ did _ earn him a very small, very wry smirk. “Must you now?”

_ I refuse to be unsettled, _ Segundus thought stubbornly.  _ I refuse. _ “Yes,” he said, raising his chin. “Do not hesitate to call if you need anything.”

“I am in your service,” Childermass said, turning his head away into the pillow.

Segundus looked at him for a moment longer and then nodded, going to put out the light. Then he turned for the door. “Good-night, Mr Childermass.”

“Good-night, Mr Segundus.”

He closed the door behind him, and blew out a huff of air. A hand pressed to his forehead, fingers pushing into his hair. Good-night sounded pleasant; his own bed was calling for his aching body to crawl into and slip away into dreamland.

_ Good-night, Mr Segundus _ , Childermass had said, and Segundus was well prepared to have that good sleep indeed.

**Author's Note:**

> PS I haven't read the book yet I'm waiting on it to get here so I only know book bits and pieces through research


End file.
